Keeping Score
by Doyle-sb4
Summary: A moment in the summer between To Shanshu in LA and Judgement. Angel thinks about turning human. Angel-Cordelia friendship.


Title: Keeping Score  
Author: Doyle  
Pairing: Angel/Cordelia (friendship)  
Rating: PG  
Notes: For mrsdrake for the C/A Ficathon - request was season 1 or 2, humour. This takes place between To Shanshu in LA and Judgment. 

Cordelia crossed the final T in 'Gavortnian slugbeast' and snapped the cap onto the marker. "There," she said, taking a step back and looking at her work as if it were the Sistine Chapel and not a demon name scrawled on a whiteboard. Angel couldn't blame her. He had it too, that feeling of accomplishment, of being a step closer to their goal.

"Looks good," he said. "The board. It was a good idea."

It had been Cordelia's suggestion, and she beamed at the praise. "It'll help us keep track of the Go Team Us tally. One more slimy thing off the streets, one more check on the board."

"Not a bad night's work," Wesley said, a note or two of pride sneaking into the casual words. "Gavortnians are notoriously difficult to kill."

"Demon cockroaches," Cordelia said. "And I thought I loved this city before now."

Wes was picking up some of the research books that had taken over the couch, and she sank into the newly cleared space.

"God, it feels good to sit," she moaned, toeing off her shoes. She stretched her arms above her head, working her neck from side to side. "I think the only good thing about the office being in my apartment is that I don't have to go home at the end of the night." The table lamp rattled. "You're the other good thing, Dennis."

"We need to think about getting a new place," Angel said. "Not that Dennis isn't a big help…"

"Yeah, I know, more space required." She blinked up at them. "By the way, if you two are just standing around, I wouldn't hate a soda. And there's food in the kitchen that could probably be microwaved into something edible." Her instructions given, she reclined regally against the cushions.

"Do you ever get the feeling," Wesley remarked, "that should we find a demon clan in need of a ruling matriarch, you would lose an employee?"

"I put up with the visions, I provide the office space, and I'm always the one who buys the delicious pastry snacks." She crossed her arms, aiming a challenging raised eyebrow at her friends. "Plus, giving you two something to drool over other than Wesley's eight-headed demon babes. I'm not saying I deserve worship, but a crown or something might be nice."

"Megalomania is such a reassuring quality in one's co-workers," Wesley said. He picked up his books, barely ducking in time as the last came hurtling at his head. "Yes, thank you, Dennis. Well, the eight-headed demon babes and I should be getting home."

He had to shuffle the books onto his hip to open the door. The leather-bound volume on top of the pile slid downwards, but Angel was across the room in time to grab it before it got more than an inch towards the ground.

"You okay on the bike with those? I could give you a ride."

"I brought the car. But thank you, anyway."

No problem, he thought as Wesley rearranged the books and left. That was what guys did. Regular, human guys giving their friends rides home from work.

"You're practically grinning," Cordy said. "It's scary."

"Sorry," he said, not trying to get rid of the smile.

"It's a nice kind of scary," she conceded. "And when you shanshu how much are me and Wes gonna miss the superspeed? Normal humans, not so much with the lightning reflexes. We'll be dropping stuff left, right and all-the-in-between-parts."

"I'll pay for any breakages."

"Okay, who are you and what did you did with my boss?"

She said it again fifteen minutes later, when he brought her the soda she'd asked for and a dish of the pasta he'd made. Then she ordered him to go get a mug of blood for himself, and it was getting less uncomfortable, eating in front of her or Wes. Someday he wouldn't have to.

"What do you think'll happen when you turn human?" she asked, after they'd both eaten and the dishes had been dumped into the sink.

His pessimistic side - which considerably outweighed the optimistic - made him say, "If."

"When." No room for arguments. She Who Must Be Obeyed had spoken, and if the Powers knew what was good for them, they'd jump.

Her head was resting on the arm of the couch, feet tucked underneath her; she'd changed while he cooked and she was wearing sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt. No make-up, hair pulled back in a ponytail. Giving him a sleepy, happy smile as she told him he'd be human some day.

Yeah, he could see why she'd been the queen of Sunnydale High.

"And it better be in my lifetime, buster," she added, "or you're in for one hell of an asskicking when we end up in the afterlife or the big detective agency in the sky or wherever." She must have thought of it at the same time he did, because she said softly, "Make that tag-team asskicking, because Doyle's gonna be mad he missed it."

He looked over to the board. Plenty of white space left there for new demons. They'd rub this week's off to make room. "Guess we've got a lot of work to do," he said.


End file.
